


The Man Who Rolled Jack Sparrow

by kayliemalinza



Series: Man Who Rolled [2]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: Drunkenness, Humor, M/M, Relationship Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-17
Updated: 2006-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and James talk about their feelings, except they don't. And neither of them are going to remember any of it in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Rolled Jack Sparrow

**Author's Note:**

> The sea shanty James mentions in the first part is [The Saucy Sailor Boy](http://www.contemplator.com/sea/saucy.html). It's not very meaningful besides being the most piratey shanty I could find in five minutes.

The cook wouldn't give James his rum.

"Sorry, Jim," he muttered, pouring the Caribbean "water of life" for the sailors behind him. "Captain said you need to dry out."

James wanted to say a few things himself, such as he'd dried out enough parching in the brig the past three days and the Captain was none too dry himself and probably wanted James' ration for himself and he stank, besides. But as James leaned forward to pontificate, the ship rolled slow and queasy in the other direction, and when nobody else seemed to notice this, James silently conceded that he might still be a little moist.

He took the fresh water that Cookie sympathetically slipped him and settled himself near a porthole. The other crew were kind enough to heed his apathetic glower and take their rum to the other end of the gundeck, though he could hear desultory hummings of the shanty recently composed in his honour. Personally, James liked the verse about the eleventh tavern best. Not having any fuzzy memories to compare it to after the tenth tavern, he was able to appreciate the verse solely for its artistic merit.

James had just gotten used to the fact that water cooled the throat going down rather than burned it when Gibbs shuffled up behind him. "Aye there, Norrington," he said.

James knocked back the last of his water and clapped Gibbs on the shoulder, glad that _one_ man on the ship knew his damn name. This "Jim" business was quite beyond the pale. "Gibbs, my good man. What did I do in the twelfth tavern?"

Gibbs looked about shiftily. "Ah... the captain don't like us to sing that verse," he said.

Norrington winked. "So whisper it to me."

Gibbs shook his head. "I better not. Jack wants you in his cabin, and he's been deep in his cups all day. You should go up as quick as you can."

James sighed. "Any chance he'll pass out if I wait a few minutes?"

"Best not to risk it," said Gibbs, with something of a smile.

James rose to his feet and rapped his tankard again the table. The other men quieted their songs and stories and turned to him expectantly.

"The Captain has called me to his cabin," James announced. This produced a low rumble; part sympathetic groan, part laughing speculation. "If he has me flogged—" James paused dramatically. The crew were silent; Gibbs nervously curled his fingers. "—I shall endeavor to voice my agony to the tune of 'The Saucy Sailor Boy.'" The men cheered, Gibbs relaxed, and James tramped up the gangway.

* * *

James' curt knock produced a series of curses, stumbles, and half-snatches of song before the cabin doors flew open. James raised an eyebrow at the disheveled lump of captain slumping against the door. Gibbs hadn't been exaggerating, had he?

"I dun wanna talk to you," Jack slurred. He tried to yank the door shut, but it stuck halfway. He stared at it in befuddlement before realizing that James had a grip on the handle. He slapped half-heartedly at the offending fingers. "Leggo my door."

"You called me to your cabin," said James, smirking as Jack tried to pry his fingers from the handle. Stupid wasn't always a good look, but somehow it worked on Jack. "It was a direct order."

The nerve of the man, to interrupt Jack's captainly duties with lies! Lies and—and—oh, Jack _had_ sent for James. He remembered 'cause Gibbs had given him a funny look. "I didn't mean it," said Jack, and tugged petulantly at the door. It stayed firmly open.

"Are you ordering me to leave?" asked James pointedly.

Jack poked at the door handle, flicking lambent glances at James. "Noooo...." he said uncertainly. "Ay! Whaddyer doin?" He stumbled back as James pushed into the room, closing the doors behind him. "I didna give you permishun to—"

"I took initiative," James said smoothly, sliding home the bolt.

"That's not inish—inish—" Jack blinked wetly at James, who was crowding him backwards. "That's inser... burdinashun. Mmph."

James tugged on Sparrow's chin until his mouth fell open for the kiss, until James could suck the rum-fumes from his captain's very breath. Jack brought up his arms, elbows pushing James away, fingers clutching coat and pulling him further in. It was a careful drunken tango; James wrapped a steady arm around his captive's waist and spurred him backwards with the steady pressure of his thighs, squeezing hand over hip as a rudder. Jack's arse colliding with the table jolted them out of the embrace, and Jack giggled into James' collarbone.

"That's molestashun, sailor," he mumbled, and giggled again. Sometimes kisses _tickled_.

"Certainly the least offensive of all the names you've called this," James mused. To be fair, he hadn't known what all of the others meant, but a lot of them sounded French, if not Spanish. James had met quite a lot of Frenchmen, and unless they were saying "I concede the ship," they weren't worth listening to.

Jack squinted up at him, fingers picking lightly at James' lapels. "'Matelotage' izn't offensive," he said.

"It is when you say it," James countered, ignoring the eloquent roll of Jack's eyes. "Not to mention you only ever mention matelotage when you want to have a jest at me. Furthermore, it's inaccurate to use the term to describe our current arrangement."

"Aw, stuff it, ye sot," groaned Jack, pulling away and turning his back on James. Honestly, if he had known the former Commodore was going to be this difficult he wouldn't have bothered. Except he had and he still did. Bothered. Even though he knew. That James was... difficult? Mostly talky.

"And though it may be embodied by a formal written contract—"

Jack made a dismissive noise, reaching for the rum. James nimbly stepped between Jack and the table, grabbing the tails of his coat when Jack attempted a feint..

"—it is in no way representative of the equal, trusting relationship to be expected between matelots," continued James, reeling Jack in. Handful over handful of tattered garment, not too different from mooring. If only James could get away with really tying Jack to a dock. "Particularly in regards to the sharing of worldly possessions."

Jack glared, slumping against him again."I gave ye a pair of boots last week," he muttered. James was being sneaky, now. Intending to defeat Jack by being... warm. Warm and strong and nice for leaning on. But one should never forget the rum. No, never the rum.

"The boots were part of my rightful share in the latest raid, and never belonged—" James snatched up the rum as Jack wrenched away to grab it. "—to you to begin with."

Jack flailed for the bottle, but James held it high above his head with one long arm and kept Jack at bay with the other. Jack slapped at the hand on his chest, but it was immovable. "Dammit, man, gimme mah rum!"

"That is precisely the attitude I was speaking of," said James, lowering the bottle to his lips. He shook his head at Jack's muffled whine. "Settle, Jack. You're hardly in need of more rum."

Jack consumed each drop and swallow with his slow-glazed eyes, slipping into James' embrace again. He caught the bottom of the bottle with determined fingers, but James set the bottle back on the table and distracted Jack with a stern kiss, flavored enough with alcohol to satisfy him temporarily.

The second kiss was for James' benefit, because he liked the rasp of beards and the sloppy slide of lips. He pulled away to study Jack. "Exactly how drunk are you, Sparrow?" he asked.

"Tha's _Captain_ Sparrow," Jack said distractedly.

"You're not very captainly at the moment," said James. Jack looked more like a lazy whore than anything else, with his kohl smeared down one cheek and his coat sliding off his shoulders.

" _Yer_ not verra captainly," Jack muttered, pressing his face into James' neck when his body swayed in that direction. Smelt like shipwood, James did. Clean and sturdy, tinged with salt. Jack snuffled happily.

Perturbed, James extricated himself and held Jack at arm's length. "How much did you drink?" he asked, peering at the dilation of Jack's pupils.

"A lot!" Jack said, flinging out his arms with a grin. James sighed, clutching at Jack's shoulders just in time to keep him from falling backwards onto the table.

"Why?" James asked, smoothly moving the rum to a safer spot.

"'Cuz it's fun," said Jack. Didn't James _know_ that?

"In moderation," countered James, voice colored with exasperation. "You only get this drunk when you're mulling over something." James had a strong suspicion this had to do with Tortuga, but it was foolish to assume anything about Jack. It was just as likely he was upset about some secret devilry that had gone awry, possibly due to goats.

"Do not," said Jack. It wasn't James' business, anyhow. Well, it _was_ , but James probably didn't care about Jack's mullings-over. No, former Commodores were particularly cold-hearted, even if their lips were unusually warm. Jack leaned forward to kiss him.

James turned his head away and shook Jack a little bit. "Stop being childish."

" _You_ stop being—"

"Tell me what the matter is," James snapped. "Or I'll leave."

Jack pouted and wriggled out of his grasp. If James going to be so blustery, then he bloody well _could_ leave. Jack didn't care a tuppence for—ooh, table. Jack rubbed his hands on the varnished wood, then bent over and laid himself across it. The wood was so smooth and cool against his cheek.

James sighed. The curve of Jack's arse was lovely, but his eyes were closing and that would never do. James cracked a palm across Jack's vulnerable stern. Jack let out a half-yelp, half-mewl and crawled further onto the table.

"Jack," James said warningly. When that didn't garner a response he grabbed Jack's arm and rolled him onto his back, legs sprawling on either side of James' thighs. James leaned over Jack and rested his forearms on the table. "Is there something amiss, Captain?" he asked tightly. Jack skirted his eyes elsewhere, squirming under James in a manner that would have normally made him gasp, but James' privity had been curiously comatose since Tortuga.

The former-Commodore could do what he liked, but Jack was not going to give it up. Try red-hot pokers or Catholic choirs or any manner of medieval medical devices, Jack was going to keep mum. Silent as the grave. Stoic as a statue.

"Watter thirty-four whores got dat I 'aven't got?"

Whoops.

"Thirty four boxes," James quipped, while his mind raced on. Thirty four whores? Was _that_ the twelfth verse?

Jack looked at him hopefully. "I kin get boxes," he said. "I kin get wooden 'uns an gold 'uns and—"

"That was a jest, Jack. A poorly executed one." James sighed and bent his head, pressing his nose and lips to Jack's cheek. He'd known Jack was irritated about the night in Tortuga, but he'd thought it was about being beaten at his own game. Evidently not.

Jack crinkled his brow. "Whorin's not a hangin' offense," he said.

"Never mind, Jack."

"Ish not!"

"Oh, for the love of—" James yanked Jack from the table and half-dragged, half-frog-marched him over to the window seat. Jack clung unhelpfully to James' shirtfront, hissing at the shaft of sunlight attacking him through the window. "Stop that," snapped James and dumped him on the seat. Jack clamped his arms around James' neck as quick and strong as an eel, however, and brought James toppling down on top of him.

"Give us a kiss," said Jack, making calf-eyes and pursing his lips.

"In a moment," said James, carefully untangling himself and lifting Jack's legs onto the seat. He settled the captain next to the window ("Ah! Iz bright!" moaned Jack) and lay down beside him, wishing he'd thought to bring the rum.

 _Oh_ , thought Jack. This was quite cozy, really. "Kiss?" he asked.

James pecked at his lips. "A kiss," he said.

Jack pouted. "That's th' letter uh th' law but not da... da spirit," he mumbled, seeking reparations.

"But it _is_ the letter of the law," said James, avoiding Jack's clumsy lips. "You can't ask a man to follow more than that."

"Yes, you can," Jack said stupidly.

James shook his head. "It is the responsibility of every officer to state his orders clearly and completely, and he must take the blame for any misinterpretations."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Wotcher gettin' at?" he asked.

James settled Jack more firmly against the window. "It's hardly fair of you to be angry at me for what happened in Tortuga."

"Ah kin be angry at ye fer whatever ah like," Jack muttered darkly, poking at James' shirt buttons.

James gently pushed Jack's hands away from his fragile bits of brass. "That may be true, but the fact remains that you brought this upon yourself."

"How so!" cried Jack.

"A stunning lack of clear communication on your part," James drawled.

"That's not true!" shouted Jack, squirming to get on top of James. "I tried ter git yer attenshun, but you were all falutin' and navyish and, and, you shoulda just _known_."

"But I _didn't_ know," grunted James, struggling equally hard to keep Jack off. "It's not in the contract, you've never mentioned—"

"Bugger the contract, ye thick-headed daftie," moaned Jack, falling back against the hard seat. He tugged at James' shirt front, mumbling into his collar. "M not a jealous man. Five or six whores I coulda dealt with, but thirty four is just—"

"I strongly doubt that accuracy of that number," James said.

Jack nipped his neck. "I dun run around wi' any ol' crew member," he muttered to the edges of James' beard. "S'bad luck. Bad idea. Iz only 'cuz you were all scruffy an' sad an—"

James blinked rapidly in surprise. "I'm not sad," he said.

Jack nodded, his beads clacking against the wood beneath him. "Yes you are. You keep lookin' at th' ocean and sighin' an' ah know ye still gotcher wig, an—"

James tried to put a hand over Jack's mouth, but he kept ducking his head away. "Be quiet, Jack. You're drunk."

Jack snaked his arms around James, pinning his arms. "Ah always sed ah wuz rootin' fer ya, cuz it seemed like no-one else wuz, an' yer not so bad a persun—"

James gave up on getting his hands to Jack's face again and settled for worming down the front of his trousers, hoping to distract him. "This is nonsense, Jack," he hissed. "I won't listen to another word of it."

Jack rocked slowly into James' hand but his mouth ran stupidly on. The only concession to James' efforts were tiny gasps among his slurs. "Iz just bad circumstances, iz all.... ah know wut dat's like, neither of us deserve this...."

James pulled harder, not knowing why he was so adamant, why his chest tightened in something close to panic. "Shh. Don't say anymore."

"Dem pretty eyez.... an' all yer years an' wounds in yer voice...."

This wasn't enough. James needed some... leverage. "Budge up," he said, shrugging Jack's slackened arms off him. "I can't reach well." Jack seemed uninclined to move outside his thoughtless thrusting, so James pulled him up by the convenient handhold of his arse and balls.

Jack cried out, uncertain if that hurt or tingled pleasantly. Then James plunged his hand into Jack's trousers again and that was nice, no qualms about it. Jack flung a leg over James' thigh to pull him closer, and his mumblings turned to breathy keens. "...former commodore an' his abillutteez... all dem whorez lined up an' one by one.... bloody navy lad... lakka respek fer da captain.... dammit Jamie, Jamie, Jamie... I wuz right at da table wid you.... an' den you.... dammit, Jaymsh...." Jack moaned the final words and buried his head in James' neck, where he could feel the pulse skittering as fast as if it had been James' own release. His head was now surprisingly clear.

James pressed the top of his chin to Jack's head, gingerly extracting his hand and curling it on Jack's back. Jack smiled and kissed the nearest patch of skin. "M glad you feel the same way," he murmured.

James delicately cleared his throat. "I never said that."

Even in his post-coital torpor, Jack roused up a decent chuckle. "S'not about sayin', man."

"Granted," said James, slowly beginning to stroke Jack's spine and shoulder. "But I fear the depth of your emotions is unmatched by mine."

Jack pushed away to look at his face, the onset of anger piercing the lingering drunkenness that wrapped around his brain. "Why'd ye cozy up t'me in th' window, then?"

James' expression was smug and bland. "I needed to contain you," he said. "You might have done yourself harm, and that would endanger the ship."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "So you were sacrificing your body for the good of the crew, iz that it?"

"Precisely."

Jack shoved further away and tried to sit up. "An' what was your hand in me trousers for?" he blustered. "Inspecting the cannon?"

James shrugged. "I thought it best to keep you mollified."

"An' you couldn't have done that any other way," Jack said coldly. His buzz from the rum was nearly gone now, and that did not make Jack a happy captain.

James smirked. "This method was the most efficient."

Jack wavered a moment, then leaned heavily against the window. "You could've just given me rum," he said sulkily.

"The idea was to dry you out, Captain."

Jack was genuinely confused. "An' why is that?"

James settled his arms behind his head. His lips quirked the way they did when he was mustering up his best, most infuriating drawl. "To be inebriated to this degree while captaining a ship is an abhorrent act of negligence." Jack glared at him. "Cease your staring, Jack, it's giving me a headache."

"Cease yer lyin', then!" Jack bellowed.

James sighed and slid off the window seat. "I need rum," he muttered, and stumbled over to the table. He pointed a finger at Jack's hopeful expression and said sternly, "None for you."

Jack pouted but seemed content to drink by proxy; James' gasps and swallows lit an unnatural gleam in his eyes.

"Drink more," he whispered.

"Peace, man," mumbled James, dipping his lips to guzzle at the rum. It was unwise to drink so heavily in Jack's presence, he knew, but the more he drank the less his head complained. Too late he realized this was a bottle of the gentleman's rum acquired in the last raid, which trickled smoothly down the throat and spread a lovely diffuse burn. Jack was leaning against the window and he looked shiny like that, with the sun lighting up his planes and edges. When he smiled and crooked a finger, James obeyed.

Jack guided James onto the seat next to him, laying his legs across James' thighs and resting his head on James' shoulder. "Why was it again that ye cuddled me in the window," he asked casually, rubbing James' chest and belly with a warm hand, "if not for the pleasures of the flesh?"

James looked dazedly at the rum bottle. Why was it swirling around like that? "Pleasures of the flesh do not always require the loins," he said carefully.

"Ah," Jack said, a soft sound against his ear. "So other body parts can get in on the action too, eh? Like, the shoulders?" Jack pulled James gently from the window and kneaded his shoulders.

James' head lolled back, his eyes drifting shut. "Yes...." he breathed. "That's a good rub...."

"And kisses are little pleasures in themselves?" Jack dropped kisses on his neck and ear; slow cool swipes of his teeth and tongue.

"Mmmhmm," murmured James.

"But every human creature has lips and... hands," said Jack, wrapping his arms around James' waist. The heat of James' skin was making him drunk again; the befuddled honesty of his answers were a sweet intoxication. "You might as well have gone to Gibbs."

James shook his head; his eyes dazzled at the way that made the room unhinge. "He's not pretty."

Jack chuckled against his neck, sending shivers everywhere. "You're being unkind, dear James." He nuzzled behind James' ear, his voice gone husky. "But loveliness is a kind of pleasure, izn't it? Is Scarlet lovely, by yer measure?"

"Yes...."

"Why don't ye spend all your... days... in Tortuga with her, then?" James' chest was really quite nice. Warm and firm and just hairy enough.

James blinked at the hands slipping between the edges of his shirt. "Hmm?"

"Come now, former Commodore," Jack purred. "I know ye must have a Naval nest-egg fittered away somewhere. You don't need to sail on my Pearl for the money. Do you, James?"

It seemed Jack wanted a response, so James shook his head, breath catching at the heat of hands against his chest. They must have sailed into a whirlpool; the cabin was swirling in lazy circles. "Why do you sail on the Pearl, James? Why my ship and no other?"

"Because... because yer th' captain...." slurred James, clasping his own hands over Jack's.

Jack pulled his hands from James' shirt to entwine their fingers. "Do ye like how I run the ship, James? Is that it?"

James shook his head, leaning back against the arms that encircled him, that held him up no matter how heavy he got.

"Then why are you here, James?" It was a low sweet slide against his ear, the voice that swirled and swayed. James closed his eyes and absorbed the thrilling timbre. "Is it because you fancy me?" Jack asked, his fingers tensing around James'. Victory was so close that he could taste its sweet spice in the back of his mouth. "Do you fancy me, luv?"

James opened his mouth and gave a garbled sigh; his head fell back, and he slumped against Jack. His mouth released a single snore.

"Bugger," said Jack.

Now he'd have to do all of this _again_.


End file.
